


i shall not live in vain

by AccioInvisibilityCloak



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Episode Tag: Ch 4 A Descent Into the Maelstrom, F/F, Fluff, is there anything better?, smitten literary ladies, so here i am repping the rarepairs, this fandom needed some femslash already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioInvisibilityCloak/pseuds/AccioInvisibilityCloak
Summary: After she escapes from the raven room, George Eliot has an unexpected encounter with a stranger in Poe's kitchen. Who is this beautiful woman? And why didn't George notice her before?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for my wonderful friend Kirsty, with my thanks, for everything. <3

***

       George Eliot crawls out of the vent and falls to the ground with a cough and a sputter. She sighs into Poe’s dusty carpeted floor, rolling over to lie on her back until she can catch her breath. Oscar is nowhere in sight, and George wonders with a snort if he ever found that crowbar. Not that it would do her much good right now. She’s free of the raven room, but alone in an unfamiliar corner of the mansion, with a murderer on the loose!

It was a mistake to come here tonight, she thinks to herself, sitting up to readjust her mustache. She should have listened to her publisher’s warning to keep a low profile. Any one of her fellow authors here tonight might guess her secret and ruin her career for good. And now she’s in mortal danger AND covered in raven poop. Fantastic.

“Hmmm, which way…” George paces along the hall, counting her every step, in case she’s gone in the wrong direction and needs to find her way back to where she started. And then, she hears a noise in the dim corridor ahead. “Oscar? Oscar, is that you? I’ve escaped!”

Turning the corner, George finds herself standing in a patch of light- the doorway to the kitchen.

“Oscar? I- oh!” George stops in her tracks, taking in the sight before her eyes. Hovering over Lenore’s soup pot is a pale young woman, a stranger, her fine features framed by brown hair twisted into a bun atop her head. The woman looks up and offers a small, nervous smile, and George loudly clears her throat, hoping to mask the sound of her heart suddenly jumping in her chest.

“Hi!” she squeaks, then remembers herself and forces her voice lower, pouring on the masculinity. “I mean… good evening, milady. I don’t believe we’ve met. The name’s Eliot… _George_ Eliot.” She crosses to the woman and bends to kiss her soft hand. She’s nothing if not a gentleman.

“Emily Dickinson,” says the woman exasperatedly, blushing bright red. “I’ve been here all night!”

“Should you really be drinking that?” George asks worriedly, nodding towards the soup. “I thought I heard it was poison.”

“Red herring,” Emily reminds her, holding out the spoon. “It’s delicious.”

“So it is,” says George after tasting a bite. “I never did get any dinner tonight, and a man’s gotta eat, right?” She puffs out her chest as she takes the spoon from Emily, and thrills when their fingers brush together on the wooden handle. George pulls away first, embarrassed.

“I’m so glad to meet you, Mr. Eliot,” Emily says. “I love your books. _Middlemarch_ is simply glorious. I’ve written my share of love poems to Dorothea Brooke.”

George chokes on her soup. Emily reaches over to pound her on the back, and she waves a hand in thanks, attempting to dislodge a rather large piece of herring which she spits into Poe’s sink. 

Once she can breathe again, George squeaks, “You… you wrote love poems to Dorothea? _My_   Dorothea?”

“Truthfully,” Emily says, a twinkle in her eye,” I was a bit disappointed to arrive here tonight and find that my dear George Eliot truly was a man. I had thought only a woman could capture so perfectly what it is like to inhabit the feminine soul. Your prose is simply masterful, sir. Also, you dropped your mustache.”

“I- uh- oh, shit,” George mumbles, grabbing the mustache from where it landed on the table and attempting to stick it to her face again. “This is nothing, I, er- I was born with a tragic inability to grow facial hair! Quite emasculating, really…”

“ _George_.”

“Okay,” she sighs, putting down the mustache. “You’re right. I’m living a lie! But you can’t tell anyone I’m a woman! Please!”

“Oh, yes! I promise,” says Emily happily. “I can’t believe I was right! You’re amazing. I’m sure no one else has guessed.”

“Well, I had no choice. I had to convince the world I was a man, or my no-good cheat of an ex-husband would try to pass my work off as his own! And I, uh… I also just really like wearing pants. They’re so much more comfortable than skirts! No offense,” George adds, nodding at Emily’s lovely, floor-length black gown.

“I think trousers rather suit you, for what it’s worth,” Emily smiles. “You look very dashing, Madame Eliot.”

“Evans, actually,” she says, softening. “Call me Mary Ann Evans. At your service.”

“Here, Mary Ann. Let me help you with that,” Emily says, taking the false mustache and stepping forward until they’re standing face to face. She takes Mary Ann’s cheek in her soft, cold hand, leaning in close to brush fingers across her skin as she presses the mustache just under the shorter woman’s nose.

They’re just millimeters apart in the quiet old kitchen, and Mary Ann can feel Emily’s breath sweet on her skin as her eyes slip down to stare at the poet’s full, pink lips. Emily’s eyes are closed, and her hands are still cradling Mary Ann’s face as both women slowly lean in…

“AAAAAHHHHHH!”

A bloodcurdling scream tears through the otherwise quiet house, leading the two women to jump apart.

“That sounded like Charlotte Bronte!” Emily exclaims, still breathing heavily from the anticipation of a kiss that will never come.

“And she’s in trouble!” Mary Ann grabs her hat off the kitchen table. “Maybe… we can try this again, later? When all this is finally over?”

Emily nods. “I’d like that. And Mary Ann?”

Mary Ann stops in her tracks, turning to look back at the wisp of a woman standing beside her. “Yes?”

“Your secret… it’s safe with me.”

And with that, both women flee. Whatever horrors yet await them, they’ll face, hand in hand.

***

**Author's Note:**

> IF I can stop one heart from breaking,  
> I shall not live in vain;  
> If I can ease one life the aching,  
> Or cool one pain,  
> Or help one fainting robin  
> Unto his nest again,  
> I shall not live in vain  
> -Emily Dickinson, who was a giant George Eliot fangirl in real life. It's canon.


End file.
